


For Whom the Belle Tolls

by ChloeWinchester



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Implied/Referenced Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-11
Updated: 2015-03-11
Packaged: 2018-03-17 09:08:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3523613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChloeWinchester/pseuds/ChloeWinchester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The effects of Rumplestiltskin’s banishment finally resonates with Belle, and the consequences of her sacrifice become abundantly clear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For Whom the Belle Tolls

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Johniarty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Johniarty/gifts).



The house was dark and cold.

She couldn’t find the energy to turn on a light, no real motivation to want to see where she was going, to see where they had almost built their life together.

The wretched dagger was still clutched in her hand, blaring her husband’s name in the glint of the moonlight filtering through the curtains. She couldn’t let it go yet, her hand wouldn’t open to let it fall and get away from her, she just...couldn’t manage that yet.

“Belle, no, please, I won’t be able to come back.”

Gone. Gone, he was gone and he wouldn’t be coming back. She’d banished him and she had no idea where he might go, where he might end up, what he might...might do. Alone. Oh, god, she left him out there alone-

No.

No, her decision had been made. He hurt people. Over, and over again he hurt people without regard, without remorse and she looked over it. She pushed through it and ignored it because she loved him, she loved him so much…

She still did.

The heels on her weary feet fell  with sharp thunks on the hardwood as she kicked them off and staggered upstairs. No sound, nothing but the dull beat of her walking up the stairs. She felt so heavy and weighed down, like her heart had become a weight she could barely lift.

Belle climbed the stairs  and shoved the door of their bedroom open.

“Do you like it alright? Are you comfortable? Which side do you prefer, sweetheart, I want you to feel safe here.” She had felt safe. She always felt safe with him near and now that he wasn’t close to her she felt...she felt colder.

“Shh, just a dream, Belle. It was just a dream, I’ve got you. I’ve got you now, shh…”

Her hand shaking she reached out and touched the blanket, still clenching the knife in the other.

“It’s alright, dear. It’s alright, we’ll go slow. One step at a time.”

Her eyes wandered around the room, retracting her hand from the bed almost violently, as if it could burn her.

Their room, their love, their life, everything they’d fought for was here. And he’d thrown it away so carelessly and she’d pushed him out of her life, out of sight, forever.

Neither choice was best, neither choice was good enough to solve anything.

What made all of this worse was how everything remained untouched. As if nothing had happened at all. They’d just been out and any moment now she would wake up from this wretched nightmare and he would come back in, wrap his arms around her and tell her it was okay. Just a horrible, horrible nightmare he’d never do anything like that. The Gauntlet would lead to her and he would prove it and all of her troubles-

“Stop,” she ordered herself. “Stop, stop, stop it.”

Her and her fantasies, her and her books and stories where the hero is, in fact, the hero and gets everything they wanted. Where was her happy ending? How did it come to pass that everyone around her, everyone good, had their happiness given to them and seldom taken away.

Where was hers?

Imprisoned for over thirty years, her memories taken at least twice after that, the universe separating them over and over again and finally her true love was taken from her. He died, he died right in front of her and everyone and still, even when he was brought back, he was taken again.

Now this.

She wandered to the dresser, taking her hair down, eyes catching on...on the cup. The chipped teacup.

Tears flooded back into her eyes, staring at it, at the broken piece there. Broken...broken but still good, it was still good, Rumple was-

She screamed. She hurtled the dagger across the room, screaming and screaming and finally hurled it down the stairs away from her. She heard something break with such satisfaction and fell back into the bedroom, stumbling entirely to the floor and crying into her hands.

“Belle, please, I’m afraid.”

“No, no, no,” she whimpered, covering her ears. “Just be quiet, be quiet, I don’t want…” She lied down on the rug, hiding her face and covering her head.

Oh how he’d called her name. The desperation in his voice, the plea the pain and it broke her heart. She could feel it, bruised and bleeding in her chest, thumping against her ribs agonizingly.

What a nightmare her life had suddenly become. Maybe going outside of Storybrooke, leaving for New York earlier, maybe that would have been better. No magic outside of here, no power for him to try and gain-

She...sent him away. Without magic, without anything. How would he survive? How would he do anything?  He’d starve. Or freeze...he didn’t have anything to stay alive, what had she done?

Well, now you’re a murderer… You killed your own husband, you’ve killed him!

“No,” she choked. “No, no, I won’t- I can’t go get him, I can’t, I-”

Belle lied on her back, sobbing toward the ceiling and covering her face.

Would he find somewhere warm or curl under a bridge and fight to stay warm? Would he actually starve or was the power of the dagger so strong that he would writhe in hunger forever without relief?

She felt the ring on her hot face, the cool gold pressing into her skin. She gasped quietly, shaking a little. He could die out there. Her husband could die and she would be the one who killed him.

Suddenly she launched herself from the floor, hurtling into the adjacent bathroom and retched into the toilet. She coughed and gasped, emptying herself entirely with bile spilling and burning her throat horrifically.

“No, Belle!”

His cries echoed in her ears, as well as every kind word he spoke to her, the gentle touches to wake her in the mornings, the soft kisses to her throat when he turned into her at night and squeezed her close and she knew he’d had a nightmare but all she did was kiss his hair and shush him and promise, promise, promise that everything would be alright-

It finally stopped. Belle slumped away from the toilet, dragging herself up to the sink where she rinsed her mouth.

Undressing sluggishly, she stumbled to the bed and carefully picked up the nightgown laid at the end of it, pulling it on and trying to ignore the silk pajamas that had been laying beside hers.

The bed was so big. She was so tiny compared to it, lost in a sea of linens and down duvet and pillows.

Belle hugged herself, forcing herself to lie down, forcing herself to look at the empty side of the bed where he was supposed to be. She closed her eyes, crying harder and reached for his pillow.

Having something in her arms, something that smelled like him, she thought would help. She buried her mess of a face into it, crying so hard and clinging so tight, breathing deep.

Sobs and rough cries echoed through the empty house, the moon rising higher as time passed.

Everything had been so perfect. Absolutely everything. The wedding, the dance, the house she’d found, the life they were going to build the family...the family they wanted, it was all so very perfect. Even though Baelfire wasn’t here, Henry still was and they could have a fresh start, a new life, but ever since Zelena…

Her eyes opened, swollen and red as they were. Zelena had enslaved him, caged him, all with the dagger and there was no telling what else that horrible, terrible witch had done to him while she had him. Rumple wouldn’t talk about it, he always changed the subject or whispered to her that he was tired, or that there were happier things to think on instead of that cage. That empty cage and his tired eyes and sallow face and raw fingers still spinning that wheel to drive the madness out.

That was why.

That was why he wanted to be away from the dagger. So no one could hurt him like that again, so no one could use him against her or Henry or…

“Oh no,” she croaked, sitting up and running down the stairs. She burst through the door in her nightgown and her coat, running barefoot down the road. “Rumple!”

Her feet scraped and clapped against the icy pavement. It stung. Her lungs pinched her legs shook and screamed for her to stop but she didn’t, not until she reached that town line.

She fell, skidding and breaking her knees open, tearing her palms. Her feet bled as well, but they were so numb to the cold she couldn’t feel it. “Rumplestiltskin!” She called, reaching through and hoping. Hoping that he hadn’t gone, that he had some faith she might come back.

Her hand clutched at the empty air, sobs forcing themselves from her overworked and searing throat, her raw face chapped and still she produced tears. Her hot breath plumed in front of her and she reached and reached but there was nothing.

“Rumple!” She sobbed. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I didn’t know! I didn’t understand, please...Please, I want to talk to you… Come back, Rumple, come back!”

She could see through the other side if her eyes hadn’t been so swollen and blurred with tears. She would have seen that there was nothing on the other side of it. He wasn’t where she’d left him.

Far, far up the road, on the cusp of the moonlit horizon, a figure limped away, having waiting so long on a false hope his wife might come back for him. That she might find mercy in her heart and allow him to explain, to talk.

But Belle was angry, and she had every right to be. She had every right to be furious with him, to banish him for what he’d done and yet he’d still… But the night had dragged on too long and she didn’t come. Belle wouldn’t be forgiving him or wanting him for a long time, if ever. And he had to accept that.

But his little Belle was reaching for him, crying her eyes out with her own hope as frost settled around the grass and the road. She called his name until her voice was gone and her face was puffy and tired. Her small form trembled in the cold, her blood sliding over the ground where she had made more than one sacrifice this night.

She felt heavier and heavier and her eyes didn’t see The Dark One vanish entirely from view, gone and alone in the cold just as she was. Her tears fell, voice growing softer until she could only mouth it, half asleep when the moon bid its adieu and let her hurt in private.

It was nearly morning before David found her and scooped her up, took her back home and offered to help but she pushed him away and slammed the door, void. Empty.

She curled up on the stairs and shut her eyes to sleep. In her wildest of dreams, she’d reached over that line, and felt the warm, reassuring hand of her husband take hers. And in waking, looking at her empty fingers, she somehow found it in her to weep once more.


End file.
